


winter's howl; different ways to breathe

by fenemee



Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Ancient Greek Religion & Lore Fusion, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Greek Mythology - Freeform, Hades - Freeform, Inspired by Hades and Persephone (Ancient Greek Religion & Lore), Jack Frost - Freeform, Jaehyun as Hades, M/M, Persephone - Freeform, Seasons, Taeyong as Jack Frost
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-25
Updated: 2019-12-25
Packaged: 2021-02-26 06:53:36
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,806
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21959167
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fenemee/pseuds/fenemee
Summary: “You're not breathing, yes." Jaehyun remarks after a pause. His rough voice has lost its humour now, all dark and serious, charismatic, even. A voice befitting of a god. "But you don't have to be alive to breathe. You'll realize soon enough, that breathing is not the only thing that deems us alive."In which Jaehyun is the god of the underworld and Taeyong is cursed to live between the blurred lines of the living and the dead.
Relationships: Jung Yoonoh | Jaehyun/Lee Taeyong
Comments: 8
Kudos: 118





	winter's howl; different ways to breathe

**Author's Note:**

> A mashup of Jack Frost and the myth of Persephone because why not! Also inspired by platinum blond Taeyong and Jaehyun’s raven hair during "Firetruck" era. 
> 
> Merry Christmas my lovelies~

It is a gloomy winter night when Taeyong dies. The warm rays of evening light have long gone, having been swallowed by the vast expanse of the purple night sky. Like a pack of wolves, the frosty wind howls ferociously as it claws and bites at his frozen skin. With more effort than it requires most people, Taeyong pulls his bony arms around his knees into a foetal position. He knows exactly how little his life is worth. He is nothing but a burden to society, a filthy child. No different from the other half-starved beggars who sit shivering in every crook and corner of the streets.

Leaning against a brick wall of the butcher’s store, Taeyong watches wordlessly as the first few flakes of snow swirl from above and fall delicately to the ground. His eyes scan the street in despair, desperate for any form of kindness people are willing to offer. A whiff of homecooked stew wafts through the frigid air and he grunts, stomach rumbling violently in response. The passers-by are huddled in thick layers of animal fur as they scurry along, eager to get away from the winter chill. Some slow down to throw him looks of pity while others are repulsed, recoiling from his weak form. They act as though hunger is a contaminable disease, his entire being no more than dirt that should be avoided lest he stains their boots.

“We better hurry home, my dear. You don’t want to end up cold and freezing like that poor boy there, do you?”

“No!” the young girl with two loose braids sputters immediately, her shrill voice laced with panic. “Let’s go, mama. He’s scaring me.”

Taeyong keeps his head down after that, aware of his unkempt appearance and tattered clothes. He stops clinging to the foolish idea that a stranger will miraculously offer him food, instead focusing on inhaling and exhaling. Breathing seems like a chore at this point, his breaths coming out ragged and uneven. Not a single pair of footsteps pause to offer him help. He swallows dryly as he stares at the dirt. It is winter, after all, and every household is busy struggling to make ends meet.

As the night drags by with nothing to satiate his ravenous hunger, Taeyong wonders if he is going to die. His feet are buried beneath a pile of straws that he had stolen from a horse stable, but he finds himself still shaking from the cold. It has never occurred to him that he will ever welcome the prospect of dying. But now that he feels so miserable and alone, to die won't be such a bad thing, will it?

It becomes increasingly harder for him to breathe as the seconds pass. Taeyong’s lips are dry and parched, too exhausted to even keep his eyelids fully open. Struggling to keep himself conscious, he lifts his face to gaze upon the desolate night sky. There are no stars today, a reflection of how empty and hollow he feels on the inside.

It hits him that his end is near when he starts to lose feeling in the tips of his fingers. They have turned a sickening shade of blue. Deciding that an empty stomach is easier to bear than freezing to death, Taeyong pushes himself to his feet. He walks carefully, dizzy with hunger and cold as he seeks out the abandoned warehouse on the outskirts of the village. It is the warmest place that the homeless people have access to.

He trudges forward into the snow slowly but steadily, one foot after the other. It takes him longer than usual, but he eventually finds himself by the entrance of the rundown building. He makes to step in when a pained whimper from behind catches his attention. Startled, his ears perk up immediately and all his senses sear to life. Charged by a sudden burst of energy, Taeyong spins around, facing the direction of the sound. His heart lurches the moment his vision zeroes in on the tiny, helpless figure in the distance. The boy’s limbs are sprawled out in all directions in the middle of the frozen river.

* * *

Without thinking, Taeyong rushes forward with a kind of urgency that has never consumed him before. He recognizes the boy as Jisung, Doyoung’s younger brother. He doesn’t know much about him, but he fondly recalls his elder brother as someone with a kind heart. Whenever he thought no one was looking, Doyoung would go out of his way to toss burnt loaves of bread where Taeyong was curled up instead of discarding them in the fire. Taeyong is pretty sure he would have starved to death ten times over had it not been for Doyoung. He has always labelled him as a sort of friend.

But then his father found out one day and Doyoung was punished. Taeyong remembers that awful summer night. He had clasped his hands over his ears as Doyoung’s cries of agony echoed throughout the streets. He begged and begged for forgiveness until his voice was hoarse as his father whipped him relentlessly.

“We do not play heroes in this house, you hear me?” The baker had snarled through clenched teeth, his furious shouting so loud Taeyong could hear him from past a row of shophouses. “We barely make enough to feed ourselves. So, what if you pity them? What can they do for you in return? Who’s going to pity us, huh? Keep treating those low lives with kindness and it’ll be too late when you realise how they keep crawling back to you.”

Every angry word was like an edged piece of glass that stabbed right into him. But what hurt the most was the look of resentment on Doyoung’s face when he spotted Taeyong outside the bakery one day. Taeyong had come to apologize, but he barely had the time to part his lips before Doyoung stepped past him, his shoulder viciously slamming the frailer boy to the ground.

“Don’t come looking for me again,” Doyoung had hissed as he halted in his tracks, his back facing Taeyong. “My father was right- people like you are undeserving of kindness. You’re like a parasite. You keep coming for more and more, nothing is ever enough.”

Taeyong had to seek out another suitable spot for begging after that day. It wasn’t easy- the homeless had some kind of unspoken rule that everyone had their own designated spots and territories. No one took another’s place and in return, his own would not be disturbed. But feeling as though he had caused Doyoung harm, Taeyong didn’t think twice before he packed whatever possessions he had and moved.

Now, as Taeyong advances towards the glistening river, he takes in how Jisung is slowly recovering from his fall. The young boy attempts to stand, his arm reaching out at the same time for the wooden toy that had slipped from his grasp. Beneath the illumination of the moonlight, Taeyong’s breath quickens when his line of sight lands on the widening cracks in the thin ice.

“Jisung, stay still!” He yells, voice hoarse with disuse. He comes to an abrupt halt when he reaches the edge of the waters, his heart racing in trepidation. “Listen carefully, the ice beneath you is starting to give way.”

Jisung jerks in surprise at Taeyong’s warning and he spins around, the toy forgotten. The older boy cringes, worried that the change in weight will only put more pressure on the ice. Thankfully, the cracks remain as they are. Jisung’s jaw has gone slack as he assesses his precarious position. His eyes water, flashing with fear as he stands rooted in the spot.

“Help me,” he whimpers, voice unnervingly small. “Please, I’m scared.”

Taeyong’s brain turns quickly as he makes a hasty scan of his surroundings, in search of a tool. “You’ll be fine, I promise. I’m coming to get you. Just make sure to stand still, alright?”

As if planted there by fate, he spots a long, fallen branch barely a foot away and lunges for it immediately. “I can’t come too close because the ice there can’t hold any more weight. When the end of the branch is close enough, you need to grab it. I’ll use it to pull you towards me. Can you do that, Jisung?”

The younger male nods, too terrified to speak. Tears travel down his ashen face as he obediently stands in place. Taeyong inhales sharply, trying to calm his own nerves as he places a light and careful step on the frozen river. For now, the sheet of ice seems to be holding well. He takes another step forward, the jagged branch still in hand. And then he is cautiously making his way towards the boy.

‘Do I- do I grab it now?” Jisung stutters when the tip of the stick hovers in reach.

“Not yet. Hang on, I’ll just… get a little closer. Okay, now! Hold on tight.”

Jisung obliges, both hands clenching one end of the thick branch as Taeyong musters enough strength to pull the boy towards him. He must have jerked a little too hard, because Jisung is sent flying past him and onto the snow. Taeyong heaves a sigh of relief and turns to shoot the boy a huge grin. He picks himself up from where he had landed on the dusty snow and breaks into nervous laughter, glad that the worst is over.

Only, it isn’t. Taeyong hears it before he sees it, before he feels it. A loud, sickening crack fills his ears and his head snaps to the ground immediately, realizing all too late that the ice beneath his feet has given way. Jisung lets out a piercing shout out of warning but Taeyong doesn’t really hear it. His arms flail about in panic as he tries to grab onto something, anything. But his fingers close around air and he falls into the deep, dark hole.

Taeyong fights with all his might. But when he accidentally swallows a large mouthful of ice-cold water and starts to choke, he realises that his death is inevitable. All he sees is the silver outline of the moon hanging above as the water pulls him deeper and deeper, down into the bottomless abyss of the river. All he feels is the frigid, almost painful cold that bites at every part of him. And then the darkness consumes him, and his thoughts are no more.

* * *

Much to his surprise, Taeyong doesn’t die. He wakes up with a start and finds himself lying across the snow where he last remembers Jisung was standing. He vaguely wonders where the younger boy had disappeared off to. He was probably the one who had pulled him back up before going home- it is pretty late, after all, and Taeyong knows the baker’s temper all too well.

He feels strangely at peace… not in pain like he thought he would be. The cold must have left him numb _._ Taeyong doesn’t feel the bite of the harsh wind as he heads back to the warehouse, thoroughly drenched and soaked. He barely even notices that he had lost his shoes sometime during the struggle. His feet are now bare as he plods through the thick layers of ice. 

For a lack of better words, the warehouse can only be described as a wreck. The one-storey building is so decrepit that most of its windows are missing glass panes. The doors to the main entrance are nowhere to be found. And that is why most of its inhabitants complain whenever the winter season arrives and the cold seeps in. 

Taeyong goes on his tiptoes as he makes his way to his sleeping spot. He takes extra care in keeping his movements silent as he steps past Yuta, fast asleep with his mouth hanging ajar. Yuta is a light sleeper with a fiery attitude, and those two do not go well together. Johnny used to get a kick out of teasing Yuta for his temper. He loved to compare the younger male to “a cat who got its balls stepped on”. Whatever that is supposed to mean. Johnny had a whole list of strange vocabulary at his disposal.

Taeyong moans internally, his chest wrenching at the thought of his deceased friend. Johnny’s last words as he succumbed to his fever were for him to live on. God knows how many times Taeyong had wanted to end his miserable life, only to stop himself whenever he thought of Johnny’s dying wish. He falls unconscious for the second time that night, distant memories of his best friend swimming through his mind.

* * *

In the wee hours of the morning, the village bustles to life. Shrieks of excitement coming from the outside jolt Taeyong awake. He muses his hair drowsily with a hand while the other pushes himself up into a sitting position. Through the cobwebbed window, he makes out several young children racing each other across the pearly snow while store owners call out to customers. The day seems much warmer than the previous night already, the orange glow cast by the morning sun painting the sight before him like a scene straight out of a story. The view of the icy mountains would have been perfect if not for the group of villagers huddled along the glimmering river, their faces creased and perplexed.

Bubbling with curiosity, Taeyong stands as he attempts to get a better view of the situation. He manages to identify a few of them- the baker, Doyoung, Jisung, Yuta and even the Village Head, who is rarely seen out of his luxurious home if not for important meetings. An odd combination, Taeyong hums to himself. He has never known that Yuta and the baker are on talking terms. He is out the door in an instant, too preoccupied with what is unfolding by the river to notice the young girl charging at his direction.

A slightly older boy with a fur hat on laughs as he chases her from behind, his cheeks ruddy from the cold and exhilaration. Instinctively, Taeyong makes to steady her as one of her ankles twists and she stumbles sideways, crashing into him. A jolt of excruciating pain shoots through him and he gasps in alarm. His hands close around nothing and his gaze falls downwards in shock, realizing that the girl had fallen to the ground.

Only, she had fallen right through him, as though he is made entirely of air. Her torso and legs are splayed out across the snow before him. With a feeling of dread in his gut, Taeyong slowly cranes his neck to the back. He slowly processes the sight of her outstretched hands and head behind where he stands. He gags at the morbid sight, realizing that he is standing in the middle of where she lies. He feels sick, like he might barf any moment now.

He watches with muted horror as she gets to her feet and continues running, no idea of what had just transpired. This can’t be right, Taeyong reasons as he trembles uncontrollably. Convincing himself that he isn’t fully awake, he picks his way across the knee-high snow, dazed. He needs to speak to Yuta immediately. He needs someone to tell him that he has not gone crazy, that he is sane.

His ears pick up on the hushed conversation as he nears the group gathered by the river, all wearing the same sombre and grim expression. He takes a backward step in surprise when he realizes that Yuta is crying. Tears stream down his friend’s cheeks in rivulets as he faces the shimmering waters. Taeyong has never seen Yuta so emotionally vulnerable before, always picturing him as a disgruntled young man.

“…you’re telling me that he’s gone, just like that?”

Jisung clings to Doyoung’s side, his tiny arms wrapped around his brother’s waist. His eyes are red-rimmed as well, looking as though he had been sobbing just mere moments before. “I- I tried to call for help. I’m sorry.”

The baker has his eyes shut as he nods, a weighted sigh falling from his thin lips. “We couldn’t do much when Jisung came to us. It was too dark to see anything, even with half the village carrying their lanterns. It was too cold to enter the waters too. No one was willing to risk it all to save someone who was most probably already dead.”

“Don’t be too hard on yourselves. There was nothing to be done. He did a good deed by sacrificing himself. We’ll arrange for an honourable burial when his body floats back up. That’s the most we can do.” The Village Head says, his greyish-white brows connecting as he grimaces.

“An _honourable_ burial?” Yuta releases a bitter laugh as he turns to face the middle-aged man with disbelief. His fists are balled up and shaking by his sides, features contorted in grief. In all the years that Taeyong has known him, he has never seen Yuta this mad before. “What’s the use of that? He’s already gone. Maybe if you actually helped the homeless by the streets back when he was alive, he could have been healthier, stronger. He could have fought the waters and still make it out alive.”

“They’re wrong…” Taeyong whispers, ripping his gaze away from Yuta’s tear-stricken face. He can’t quite bring himself to look at the extent of sorrow his friend is going through. “I’m still here, still alive. Can’t you see?”

He lifts a hand towards Yuta, to touch him, to soothe him. But it passes through the younger male. Just like it did before, a roaring pain consumes him as his fingers go through Yuta’s shoulder. Taeyong’s mouth falls open and an animalistic cry tears through his throat. He staggers backwards from the force of the contact, holding his right wrist with his free hand as though he had been burnt.

And at this moment, Taeyong registers that he is truly dead. Fear paralyses him as he falls to his knees and plunges them into the thick snow. He lets gravity pull his body to the ground, mind blank as he lies there surrounded by white. Maybe it has only been a few seconds, or maybe a few hours have already passed. It doesn’t matter, does it? He’s already dead. Heart frozen, Taeyong stares at the blinding sun. The ongoing conversation by his side is now muted and distant as though it does not concern him, as though it belongs to a past lifetime…

* * *

"Oh, get up, you fool. I’ve given you enough space to internalize the shock. Time’s wasting."

Taeyong sniffs, tears falling from the corners of his eyes. Overcome with despair, he raises his arms and punches the ground in frustration. Drops of liquid fear and confusion spill onto the snow, leaving tiny, round marks in their wake. _Why him?_ What a cruel world it is. He had made a simple promise to Johnny to live on and he couldn’t even keep it. Taeyong was going to do something with his life. All he needed was time.

"Come on, stand up! You’re stronger than this." The voice grunts, more insistent this time. Taeyong hears it but he doesn’t process the words. He drowns it out, just like he does with the other voices of the villagers who can no longer see nor hear him.

"On Mother Nature’s name, why are you upset? You're not even dead yet. Okay kind of, but not _dead_ dead, condemned to the Tartarus kind of dead. I reckon most people will be celebrating instead.”

Taeyong’s head is already pounding from self-pity as he resigns to his fate. Who the hell is complaining so close to him? He needs a break. He flinches as the voice continues ranting on and pushes himself up with his elbows, dismay written all over his face. With a start, he realizes that the man standing before him is looking at him, straight into his eyes.

The individual looks no older than he is, all sharp edges and no curves on his youthful face. But there is a hint of melancholy in his deep onyx eyes that make him seem older and wiser. Taeyong scrambles backwards as the man towers over his crumpled form and offers him a dimpled smile. It looks closer to one of menace than kindness. Taeyong shudders involuntarily as a whirlwind of questions spin in his head. Another ghost, perhaps?

"You- you can see me," he states giddily, utterly baffled. “But how?” 

The stranger’s grin only widens at that, blood-red lips pulling back to the sides as his eyes twinkle. Taeyong decides that he doesn’t like that look. The man looks like he is up to no good. He simply turns to the side, gesturing towards the wide expanse of forest behind the turquoise waters that stretch on for miles beyond.

"It's such a beautiful day, don't you think?" He remarks wistfully as he shoves his hands into the pockets of his black coat. One made of silk, Taeyong observes as his gaze lingers on the material, far too thin for such extreme weather. He knows now that whoever stands before him is not human. Both of them are immune to the icy touch of winter. 

"What are you?" Taeyong heaves from where he is crouched. His voice is soft, barely audible against the angry howls of the wind. "Are you like me? Dead? Apart from you, no one else can see nor hear me."

“Hm, you’re getting close but not really. I’ll give you another try.”

“…An angel?”

As soon as the words escape his lips, the stranger grabs his stomach with one hand as he doubles over. His eyes are squeezed shut as a deep rumble erupts from his throat. For a second, Taeyong thinks that he is in pain. But then he realizes that the strange man looming above him is simply laughing. _Laughing._ In this grave and serious situation.

“There are deities and gods.” The man sighs as he regains his composure, wiping away at an invisible tear. “But for us to be labelled as angelic? Not quite fitting. That’s a first, I must say. I’ll take it as a compliment.”

Taeyong’s patience has run out at this point. Insulted by how his words are taken as a mere joke, a burst of energy courses through him and prompts him to get to his feet. He stands face to face with the stranger, strangely dismayed to find that he is about an inch shorter. Up close, Taeyong is able to make out the man’s flawless features. He has smooth, milky skin and impossibly structured cheekbones. "All this push and pull, and what for? You haven’t given me an answer.”

"Kitten’s got a bite, I see.” The taller man mocks in fascination. Taeyong swears he would have thrown an uppercut and smashed that perfect jaw a long time ago if he isn’t as cultured. “Fine, enough of the jokes. My name is Jaehyun. Some refer to me as Hades, others call me the god of the underworld.”

Taeyong chokes on his spit in disbelief, throat constricting as his knees buckle wildly. He is tremendously grateful that he had enough self-control to not throw that punch. The consequences would have been nothing short of disastrous.

"You're telling me that I'm dead, that I'm no longer breathing."

"Haven’t you figured that out already?”

Taeyong doesn’t respond. He lets his eyes fall shut as his lips set into a grim line. There is no around this, no way to convince himself otherwise now. This is it- the cold, hard truth staring him right in the face.

“You're not breathing, yes." Jaehyun remarks after a pause. His rough voice has lost its humour now, all dark and serious, charismatic, even. A voice befitting of a god. "But you don't have to be alive to breathe. You'll realize soon enough, that breathing is not the only thing that deems us alive."

“Why… why are you doing this to me? Why not just let me die?”

“You have quite the sob story, don’t you? Abandoned in the slums at ten and a best friend who died recently. And now this, a sacrifice that will soon be forgotten for how insignificant you are. Instead of questioning me, you should be slobbering all over my boots, showering me with praises. I can’t count how many have begged for a second chance to roam the earth.”

Taeyong snarls, jutting his chin up in an act of defiance. “Lies. You didn’t do this to reward me. It’s not as simple as that. Your eyes- they’re dancing with amusement. You think this is all fun and games.”

“A feisty little one you are. A reason, you say?” A cruel laugh escapes his chest and Taeyong scowls. Jaehyun’s porcelain features are twisted into a crooked, condescending sneer. “Do I need a _reason_ for anything, much less to answer to you, a mere mortal? I think not. Anything I say goes.”

Burning with rage, his hands clench and unclench by his sides. Taeyong tastes blood where he had bitten hard into his bottom lip. And then the god continues, “Perhaps Johnny should have been the chosen one. From what I gather from your memories, he seemed to be the smarter of you two. He would have known better than to be this disrespectful. I came to offer you a deal, a way out of misery.”

Taeyong lurches forward to throw the punch, unable to contain his wrath any longer. Jaehyun shouldn’t have brought up Johnny’s name. That was a new low, a grave mistake. As though Jaehyun had seen it coming, he steps out of the way effortlessly. He pulls one hand out of the coat pocket and calmly snaps his fingers.

The next thing Taeyong knows, he is sprawled across the ground, head tilted to the side and facing the river where his physical body lies. He is too tired, too exhausted to pull himself up and challenge Jaehyun once more. He is also painfully aware that he stands no chances against a god. Taeyong has been worthless his whole life. Why will that fact change even with death? 

He stays flat on the ground, unmoving as he watches flakes of crystal snow cascade down from the blue skies above. Taeyong sees them fall into his open palm, registers the sight of them melting. He doesn’t feel the cold. And at this moment, all he ever wishes for is to feel the burning chill of winter again, to feel alive.

Jaehyun was right about one thing. It is indeed a beautiful day, a beautiful day to die.

* * *

  
For the first time in many years, Taeyong finds himself in a bed. He relishes in the feeling of soft, fluffy sheets hugging his skin before reality hits him. He sits up in an instant, memories of drowning and conversing with Jaehyun flashing before his eyes. Taeyong takes a moment to compose himself, examines the enclosed space he is taken captive in and attempts to decipher wherever the hell he is.

Apart from the minimal furniture in the room, it is mostly bare save for the few lit lanterns on the table. Taeyong comes to the conclusion that he is being held underground. A tunnel, perhaps, or a cave. The four walls, bed and furniture are all carved out of black monoliths of stone.

Jaehyun, he curses with a bitter taste in his mouth. That monster had brought him here. As though the other man can somehow hear his thoughts, a deep chuckle bounces off the stone walls and reverberates through the tiny room. Taeyong shivers involuntarily as beads of sweat appear on his forehead. He puts a hand on his chest, expecting to feel his heart thudding against his ribcage. His worst fear is proven true when he feels nothing, not even a single heartbeat.

Taeyong pushes away the plush sheets and jumps to his feet, feeling a tinge of reluctance as he leaves the comfort of the bed. An ominous door stands before him and he shoves it open, stalking out with determined steps. What else can he do except head straight for the lion’s lair? There is no other way out, no windows for him to escape through. He half-expects to see Jaehyun on the other side, more than ready to torment him with the perpetual smirk he wears like a second skin.

And Jaehyun does not disappoint. Taeyong has to scoff at the sheer arrogance Jaehyun emits the moment his eyes land on him. The raven-haired man is lounging carelessly on a grand marble chair, busy picking at his nails. He doesn’t move, pretends he isn’t aware of other’s presence even when the stone door behind shuts with an ugly creak. 

“You bastard! You filthy kidnapper!” Taeyong yells viciously, fists raised in fury as he gets into a prancing position. “What did you bring me here for? Let me out of this stinking hellhole.” There is a rectangular table separating the two of them. The table is mostly empty, apart from a long tablecloth that bleeds the darkest, vermillion red. Taeyong mentally calculate how high he has to jump to get to Jaehyun.

Jaehyun doesn’t even twitch or move a muscle at the threats made. He simply snaps his fingers and Taeyong finds his voice trailing off. He smells it before he sees it. The strong, fragrant aroma of food. His stomach stirs with interest and he inhales deeply against his will, his hungry eyes ravishing the sight before him. The magnificent glass table is suddenly laden with food of every imaginable kind.

“Not that talkative now, are we?” The dark-haired man challenges as he lightly pushes his weight off the cushioned seat. He takes his time to stand, cracking his neck to the left and right. Even as he stretches, his cold, dark eyes are trained on Taeyong, never once leaving him. Jaehyun reminds Taeyong of a wolf, a menacing predator. “If only I knew that temper of yours could be so easily pacified, I would have brought some food along when I went to collect you.”

 _Collect._ Taeyong almost cackles at the choice of word. More like kidnap. With great difficulty, he keeps his expression even and holds Jaehyun’s gaze, trying hard not to let his traitorous eyes stray towards the table. “Quit beating around the bush. Where exactly am I and what do you want from me?”

Jaehyun purses his lips dramatically and makes a show of shaking his head, as though Taeyong had somehow let him down. “You know what they always say- you shouldn’t bite the hand that feeds you. I’m usually quite the easy-going gentlemen, but your lack of gratitude is making me sad.”

“You’re warped and twisted.” Taeyong pronounces sharply, intending for every word to cut deep into the other. “Where have you brought me?”

“This is my palace. A lovely place, isn’t it? All carved out of the finest marble and stone-”

The shorter male grinds his teeth venomously, desperation eating away at his composure. “Let. Me. Out.”

 _“Oh._ You’re not staying for the little party I threw just for you? _”_ Jaehyun feigns surprise, his eyes rounding up as his lips part a little. “Not even for the sumptuous feast?”

Even as Taeyong opens his mouth to retort, his stomach lets out an untimely grumble in protest. “I know what game you’re playing at. You’ll keep me in here forever once I have something to eat. My mother used to tell me tales of the wicked demons. This is hell, isn’t it?”

A slow clap, and then a look of amusement lights up his eyes. “Welcome to my humble abode, little one. This is the underworld and I am its master.”

“I can hardly care. Brag about it to someone else,” Taeyong rasps as he backs away till his back hits the cold, hard stone. He suddenly finds that he has lost all strength to continue with his confident façade, to even hold the other’s strong gaze. Something wet slides down his cheek. It is only then that he realises he is crying. “Just let me out, please. I know I wasn’t entirely a saint. I stole from others. But I don’t deserve to be here, I haven’t hurt anyone-”

Sucking in a shaking breath, Jaehyun’s eyes fall shut for a moment. He glides from one end of the table to the other where Taeyong stands, his feet never touching the ground. He stops his advancement when Taeyong flinches, leaving some room for space. 

“Hey, hey. Just calm down for a second. First of all, this is the underworld, not hell. I mean, we do have the Tartarus here- a murky, torturous pit. But have you seen rings of fire and screaming goblins yet? Yeah, you haven’t.”

Taeyong stops crying, numb and hollow as he processes the words. The other man stares at him, trying to gauge if he should continue speaking. “There is no concrete separation of heaven and hell. There are the glorious and dark places here, of course. But you have nothing to worry about. You’re not here to be punished. You’re here in the afterlife simply because you’re dead.”

A wave of nausea hits him then, because Taeyong had somehow forgotten. He had forgotten the most important part. The shock of ice-cold water as it pulled him down under resurfaces at this very moment and he swallows harshly. Even if he escapes, there is nowhere for him to go. His eyes fall to the ground dejectedly. In the process, Taeyong catches a glimpse of his reflection on the shining goblet brimming with wine.

He almost fails to recognize himself- because where his hair was hazel brown before, it is now a shock of platinum white. Even his dark eyes have taken on a shade of pale blue.

Jaehyun catches his petrified expression and immediately raises a hand. “Hold on. Before you start freaking out once again. I wasn’t the cause of that. It was Mother Nature. Why do you think I went out of my way to search for you? I don’t do that for the regular souls, I’m busy enough.”

 _Mother Nature?_ Taeyong scrunches his face in incredulity as he uses the back of his hands to dry his tearstains. What kind of children’s tale is Jaehyun spinning now? But his curiosity is fuelled and he urges for the other to continue. “I’m listening. Go on.”

“The Moon witnessed your sacrifice and made you a Winter Spirit. You’re cursed to carry out chores for nature, to colour the foliage in autumn, to leave behind frost-like patterns in winter. It’s a rare thing for seasonal spirits to be born and naturally, I felt the calling. And so I went to you. In spite of how badly you view me, I’m here to offer you help.”

“How so?” Taeyong asks a little too fast, his interest piqued.

Jaehyun barks out a small laugh at the change in his tone. The trail of darkness that shrouds him from head to toe flickers a little before it dims. “A long, long time ago, I was just like you. That was before I was, uh, promoted. And it was a lonely time for me.”

Taeyong knows that feeling. His chest clenches as he recalls how no one at the village had been able to see him. He can’t bring himself to imagine how long Jaehyun was forced to endure that.

“I can’t save you from an eternity of solitude, but I can help a little. The laws of the underworld dictate that those who consume its food will be bound to this place forever. Your case is a little different. This is what I propose- eat something from my realm. You’ll have to serve Mother Nature only in wintertime. You’ll get to stay here with me the other three-quarters of the year, free from her restraint. I’ll even take you to the Elysian Fields, what some call heaven, if you want.”

“There must be something you’re after. What do you get out of this?” Taeyong demands. He intended for his voice to come out intimidating but instead, it trails out meek and feeble. His quivering tone reminds himself of Jisung’s cry for help back when he had been trapped on the broken ice.

“My end of the deal is to have a companion. You see, I’m lonely. I want what the mortals have- love and friendship. Accept my proposal and I’ll cherish you, shower you with tenderness. There are millions of lost souls here but none of them can understand what I’ve been through. The two of us, we’re the same.”

Taeyong’s head throbs as he assesses the situation once more. His nails are cutting into his palms as he becomes increasingly restless, a habit from his past life that he never truly left behind. He ponders over Jaehyun’s words, shifting his weight on the gravel. “How do I know that you’re not lying, that you’re not just a devil tricking me into serving you till the end of time?”

Jaehyun’s voice is gentle this time, much to Taeyong’s surprise. “Look at me. Call me out if you think I’m lying.”

The taller male teleports over and stands a breath away in an instant, no doubt another power the gods enjoy. Taeyong obliges and lifts his head ever so slightly to meet a dark and piercing stare. Jaehyun’s orbs are the colour of night, obsidian black. There are specks of gold scattered in them, reminding Taeyong of stars in a night sky. He briefly wonders how he had never noticed them before.

Unexplainable grief and sorrow grip him as he holds Jaehyun’s gaze. He sees flashes of a thousand memories and a million other untold stories. Taeyong finds himself captivated by those impossibly dark, compelling eyes. He falls into them, into one particular memory that Jaehyun has long since buried deep into the back of his mind. It is the story of how he came to be.

Without warning, the world around Taeyong shifts. The stone walls vanish and the dirt beneath disappears. Taeyong doesn’t fight it this time as he had in the frigid waters. He spreads his arms and lets the darkness swallow him whole.

* * *

Only seconds have passed before he feels the familiar, welcoming softness of grass beneath the soles of his feet. And then he hears the cries of terror, feels the orange heat of summer. Taeyong’s eyelids flutter open and he is instantly clouded by fear at the sight of the burning house before him. Smoke chokes him as he inhales in panic. But then he remembers Jaehyun’s words and stops breathing altogether, because he no longer needs to. From where he stands miles away, he manages to make out the silhouettes of two figures through the hazy windows. A teenage boy and a middle-aged woman.

“Jaehyun!” The woman gasps, breaking into a fit of coughs as she struggles to breathe. Taeyong is surprised that he can hear her so clearly from where he stands. He hears every tremor in her voice, recognises the way her words threaten to give way to sobs. No doubt the work of Jaehyun’s magic. But it weighs on him like a curse in this case. “Are you alright? I can’t see you.”

“I’m right behind you,” the boy yells, his voice dripping with frenzy. “Get to the door, quick! I’ll follow behind.”

Taeyong wants to run over, wants to save them so badly. He tries to move but realizes that he is unable to- his feet are fastened to the spot as he watches the female silhouette scramble closer and closer towards the door. She almost makes it. But fate is cruel, because a part of the roof collapses at the moment. It falls speedily, threatening to bury her beneath its weight. And then a hand shoots out from behind and shoves her out of danger’s way.

The woman stumbles forward and is out of the burning house, her soot-covered face frozen in shock as she watches the ceiling fall. It is as heavy as it looks, landing on the boy with a sickening crunch. The world falls into silence as she takes in her son’s death. Taeyong sees the way her figure crumples in agony, sees how she reaches for the burning body in the doorway, now half-broken and half reduced to ashes.

Taeyong’s heart sinks and a part of him dies along with the boy’s death. He feels horrible for being of no help even when he knows that he could have done nothing, that this is a piece of the past. The ache in his chest does not fade even as the memory does. Taeyong doesn’t get to hear the woman’s cries before he is pulled back to the present. He doesn’t need to. He can imagine it so vividly, hear her resounding wails of grief ringing in his ears. Jaehyun’s death reminds him of when Johnny passed away and he had wept all night, blaming himself for being unable to afford a doctor.

Taeyong’s vision refocuses and Jaehyun is standing before him. His lips are pulled back into a wide beam that reveals his pearly teeth. The blond looks at him, truly _looks_ at him and sees how his smile doesn’t reach his eyes. “Mother Nature really likes to mess with her victims. A painful death isn’t enough. She has to package it with an eternity of suffering.”

“How?” Taeyong releases a strangled breath, the haunting image of the fire still playing out in his mind.

“How what?”

“How did it happen? How did the house catch fire?”

“It’s kind of stupid, actually.” Jaehyun loses his smile. His face has gone all stiff and unreadable. “It was really hot that day, the ground blazing with a feverish kind of heat. The grass outside were all dehydrated and withered. They caught fire while we were sleeping and before you know it, the whole piece of land was burning. And that was it. A pathetic way to go.”

Taeyong takes in the heartbroken expression painted on Jaehyun’s face. The shadow that has always enveloped him seems darker and more visible than before. His eyes are cast towards the ground, dripping with indescribable sadness. It was probably a memory he had never wanted to revisit. The hunched figure shares no resemblance with the arrogant immortal from before. Taeyong doesn’t think he can ever view him that way again. All he sees is a frightened young boy, a lonely soul. The two of them are indeed the same.

A feeling of tenderness stirs within him and Taeyong rests a hand on his broad shoulder. He doesn’t know what he had expected, but Jaehyun’s body is warm and alive. Black liquid slides down his sculpted face as Jaehyun weeps for the memory he can never truly bury. The stark contrast in colours between his tears and his porcelain white skin makes him look all the more ethereal.

Taeyong gives him an affectionate squeeze. And then he turns and stalks towards the table, an air of purpose flanking his sides. He grabs the first thing he sees. A small, golden plate filled with fruits. Pomegranates, to be exact. He swiftly pops one into his mouth and the taste of the seed explodes in his mouth- so unbelievable sweet, so rich and juicy. The blond swallows it urgently and to his amazement, finds that his ravenous hunger from before has been magically satiated.

And when he angles his body to face Jaehyun, he sees that the taller man has his eyes wide open in alarm. Taeyong has to stifle a giggle. The cockiness the other reeked of had dissipated. Jaehyun’s shoulders are slumped forward, no longer the brooding, imposing male. Taeyong thinks that he might not mind befriending this version of Jaehyun, stripped bare and naked.

“You… you really ate it?” The god of the underworld stammers, unable to believe what he just witnessed with his own eyes. Taeyong wants to remember this golden moment forever. Somehow, he has managed to reduce this powerful being to such a vulnerable state of surprise. Maybe he should pat himself on the back. “But why?”

“There’s no other choice for me, is there?” Taeyong sighs, a sigh of relief. A contented smile sits on his lips, all sweet and genuine. And then he hugs Jaehyun tight. Because he can. And because no one else in the entire universe has the ability to do the same- to provide them with such bodily warmth except for the other. “I believe you. Now show me the underworld. Show me home.”

* * *

Jack Frost. Old Man Winter. Persephone. These are few of the names that Taeyong go by. They hardly mean a thing to him- the labels change as often as the seasons as the years melt into decades, blurring into centuries. But some things never change.

Every year, during winter when lonely souls trudge through snow-covered walkways, some feel the gentle caress of wind at their backs, encouraging them to go on. Children sometimes claim to have snowballs tossed their way when they roll about in the snow, accompanied by the mischievous sound of laughter. Their parents will always put it off, dismissing such idea as a figment of their imagination. But what they cannot refute is the sight of frost, fern-like patterns that appear on their windows the next morning.

On rare nights when the cold is unbearable, almost painful, wolf-like howls can be heard in the distance. The fall in temperature comes from Taeyong’s swinging emotions as he recalls the night his human life had ended. The icy wind swirls and bites and claws without mercy as he mourns over losing the people he used to love. Some memories burn him like fire, others leave his heart frozen. But regardless, there is one thing he knows for sure- he never wants to let go. He never wants to forget.

Deep down, hundreds of miles beneath the surface of the earth, Jaehyun busies himself whenever duty calls and Taeyong has to go. His workers often grumble about how he becomes intensely moodier during the cold season, swallowed entirely by tendrils of shadow at times. But such complains never culminate to much because they all know that the god of the underworld carries out his duties just fine. He remains level-headed as he sorts through the dead and punishes the evil, rewarding those who deserve it.

And when the winter passes as it always does, he spends the other three-quarters of the year with his lifelong companion, no longer alone. Because the two of them are tied by Mother Nature’s curse and a single, pomegranate seed, bound for an eternity.


End file.
